Heaven's Harlots: My Fifteen Years in a Sex Cult (12 page)

Weeks passed, and there seemed to be little he could do to bring his family to France. I received a few letters from Cal saying that Paris was a wonderful place, the home was totally different from any he had been in, and the band was probably going to go into the recording studio soon. I’m sure he missed us, but I think he was so excited about his new start in Paris, he did not spend much time thinking about how his wife and child would get there. We were trained to trust the Lord. Cal wrote that the home in Paris was made up mostly of musicians, singers, and their wives. They lived in a converted stable, and there was no room for children.

It seemed that Cal was incapable of arranging for me to get to Paris, for whatever the reasons, and there was little for me to do but pray.

Naomi would be of no help, and without the leader’s permission, I would not be accepted in any colony, let alone have the money to get there.

A few months after Cal left Germany, a visiting leader came by our colony who gave me a ray of hope.

Bithia, a tall, lanky young woman, was the wife of a top leader from London. She and her husband were not only nationals, they were from high society, which appeared to have status value even in the COG.

Having had an elitist upbringing, Bithia was used to doing just what she wanted, and she could not be told by any leader, let alone a domineering Naomi, what to do. Bithia had three small children, who were born before she joined the COG. She was used to buying whatever she wanted for them, and although she was trying to live communally, like others in the Family, she often wrote her parents for extra money to buy the kids something, which she did not turn over to the leaders.

Since her youngest child slept in the nursery, Bithia hung around and talked with me. We recognized our kindred rebellious spirits.

“This is really a rigid colony here, isn’t it?” she commented one day.

She had just set her baby on the rug and lounged back in a way that suggested she had always lived a life of ease.

“What do you mean?” I responded, carefully watching that her baby would not poke my son with the pencil that he had grabbed from Bithia’s open bag.

“I mean, Naomi, and her husband, they run this place like a prison. It isn’t like this in England. And, boy, you should see Paris!” she said with a smile on her face.

“Were you in the Paris colony?”

“Yeah, I just came from there. It’s pretty…You know Hopie is there, and being Mo’s daughter, she gets all Mo’s letters before they come to us. The Paris home is practicing what we haven’t even heard about yet.”

“Like what?” Bithia studied me for a moment, and decided she could be open.

“Well, have you heard about sharing?”

“In what way?”

She divulged what she knew about “sharing,” a new outlook on communal sexuality, but she did not completely reveal what was going on in Paris.

Bithia often took me with her on shopping excursions in Essen, even though Naomi would insist that Bithia take a sister who could speak German.

“No, I want someone who can help me with the kids,” she said, and, as always, she did what she wanted.

One day while shopping, she asked about my husband.

“So, are you and Cal breaking up?”

“No, I don’t think so. He said he was trying to get me to Paris.”

“He did?” she laughed. “Well, I would say he probably is too busy in Paris to worry about a wife and son.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Paris has a lot of men away from their wives, and single girls are ready and willing to serve them.”

“Are you saying that Cal shares sexually?”

“I am not saying anything. I don’t know what anyone does in the bedroom. I am saying that I would not leave a husband alone in Paris very long.”

“Well, what can I do about it? Naomi will never give me permission to go to Paris.” Actually, I was more concerned about getting out of Germany than about what my husband might be doing.

“I’ll see what I can do for you,” said Bithia. “I have a direct contact with Hopie.” The next day, Bithia came excitedly into the nursery.

“I talked to Hopie last night,” she exclaimed. “She’s such an angel. It seems that they want to start a nursery in Paris, and they need workers, so she is going to send a letter to Naomi about you coming there.”

“Oh, Bithia, you are wonderful!” I cried, giving her a hug.

“But, look, Jeshanah, you have to keep on top of this. I will be leaving in a few days, and I will do what I can from London. However, Hopie is a bit spacy, you know, and she might forget.” Bithia did leave in a few days, and she left the Family before our paths ever crossed again. Since I did not have any kind of communication with Hopie, there was little to do but pray. A couple of days later Naomi said that Hopie would be calling me on the phone that night, at eight o’clock sharp.

I waited by the phone anxiously. The call came in around nine-thirty.

“Hello. Is this Jeshanah?” piped a sweet, high voice on the other end of the line.

“Yes, this is me.”

“Praise the Lord. It is wonderful to hear you, sweetie. Your husband is such a dear, and he talks of you all the time.”

“Well, thank you. I hear so many wonderful things about you too.”

“Well, it is only the Lord, sweetie. Anything good about us is only the Lord. Isn’t He so loving?”

“Yes, praise the Lord!”

“Hallelujah! So, Bithia tells me you are great with kids. Bithia is a dear, you know, and so discerning. I trust her completely.”

“I have been working with babies since Ellenville.”

“Well, honey, we don’t have a nursery set up here, you know. It is very primitive. The conditions are extremely crowded, and we have only one bathroom for everyone. Sometimes we have over a hundred people here, but we are trying to keep that down now.”

“Oh, I could set up a nursery. That would not be a problem.”

“Well, we can see about that later. But I want you to know, this is no place for a baby. You might have to sleep on the floor. And we all eat the same food. We don’t have a special fridge for moms and babies here.”

“Oh, that is fine. I will take care of the food. My son is strong and healthy.” By now, I had been living by faith for so long, I believed the Lord would protect me from anything, especially if I was in the presence of Hopie. Mo’s youngest daughter was like a role model for me. Youthful, energetic, and spontaneous, she often got in trouble with the more organizational-type leaders, but that just made her seem more saintlike in my eyes. Hopie was only a few years older than I, yet I knew she had already pioneered most of the European homes. Mo sent his singing daughter and a team of musicians into every country first, and after she made a few contacts with established nationals, setting up a base to start with, more of our disciples would stream into the country.

I was proud to be part of her team.

“Well, praise the Lord, dear. It seems you have a lot of faith. Okay. I’m going to tell Naomi to send you over. Hallelujah! Does that make you happy, sweetie?”

“Oh, yes,” I exclaimed, not knowing how much enthusiasm I should express to leave Essen, with Naomi standing right next to me. I decided to show my true feelings. “Hopie, I want to be there with you and the band and my husband. Bithia told me that the Spirit is really moving in Paris, and I want to be part of it and help in any way I can.”

“Praise the Lord, honey, you will. Now give me Naomi and I will talk to her.” Naomi took the phone in her normal stern manner and motioned for me to leave. I walked away on a cloud and went back up to the dirty diapers, warm milk bottles, and crying babies. They were like heaven to me now.

It took about two weeks to arrange for me to leave, and to find a replacement for me in the nursery, then, carrying Thor, and all my possessions in two bags, I took the train to France. The leadership provided me with the necessary paperwork to make the journey.

Paris was another world for me. Not only did what was happening in Paris represent a turning point in COG history, but Paris was the prototype of things to come. Bithia and Hopie had been truthful about the conditions, they were primitive and physically difficult. We lived in what had been an actual stable, when horses were still used in Paris, in a part of the city called Port de Pantin. The stables had been converted quickly and shabbily to provide the basic necessities of living, such as running water and gas for cooking. There was a large all-purpose room where we ate and had our meetings and inspiration.

In the back was a small kitchen, and there were a few rooms that had been hastily constructed in various corners so that some of the married couples could have privacy. Cal and I were given one of those rooms, which was large enough for a twin mattress and our suitcases on the side. The mattress covered most of the cement floor, so each morning I arranged our suitcases in such a way that Thor could crawl about without scraping his knees on the rough cement. Actually, he never crawled much, he started to walk at ten months. I have always wondered if it was due to his having had so little crawling space.

Upstairs was a communal bathroom with only a curtain hung up for privacy. Next door was the girls’ dorm. The boys all slept downstairs in the main room. Leaders had two rooms built on the side of the girls’ dorm. The population of the colony varied daily, as visiting leaders and disciples came and went, the permanent population was around fifty. A married couple who acted as “shepherds” for the home, and Hopie and her husband, Joab, the top leaders, lived somewhere else.

Only the leaders in this colony had their wives with them, since the married musicians had left their wives back in London, or wherever they had last been. It was a miracle that they had allowed me to come.

Obviously, taking care of one’s daily hygienic needs was a problem.

Every one was advised to use the bathrooms in cafes or restaurants whenever they were out litnessing. All showers were taken at the local public baths.

There was no regular schedule for eating. Breakfast usually consisted of oatmeal soaked in milk overnight, with raisins, nuts, or whatever dried fruit was available. Since this concoction, which we called muesli, was prepared the night before and put in the refrigerator, everyone ate whenever they were ready, however, the table was cleared by noon. I remember developing a tremendous liking for this cereal mixture, and although we ate muesli every morning, I never grew tired of it.

Unlike in the Essen home, if people were hungry, they could ask the head cook for food. Since the head cook changed every few days, there was no one to blame if all the food ran out. However, as soon as we had a steady person in charge of the kitchen, free access to the refrigerator stopped. Almost everyone not in the band was supposed to be out on the streets selling literature or collecting donated food by noon. There was only one other mother besides myself, and we could arrange our own schedules. I had learned in Essen not to ask for anything, but to pray for it. So unless the other mother, who was only passing through, requested special privileges for us, I usually just followed along with the normal witnessers. All the band, musicians and singers, had a schedule of their own, led by Hopie and her husband, Joab, and I saw Cal only at night.

Despite the harsh living conditions, I was euphoric about being in Paris. The city was a treasure to explore, and I had no leadership keeping tabs on me. After a few days, I understood that whatever one was lacking in physical necessities—food, clothes, personal items—could be bought from litnessing money. As long as I showed up for inspiration in the evening, I could do pretty much what I wanted. This schedule created chaos organizationally, but it was a haven for independent-minded disciples like myself. Of course, I didn’t have any money with which to buy extra food, but I quickly solved that problem.

After learning how to ask for a donation in French, I began partnering with Elam, whom I had recognized as a good litnesser. Elam had been in Europe ever since Mo first allowed disciples who were not leaders to come over. He already spoke three languages, and with his dashing good looks, he concentrated his litnessing on women. I soon learned that in gay Paris, the relationship between men and women, even complete strangers, quickly takes on a romantic flavor. I watched Elam as he charmed a Parisian beauty, and within five minutes came back with ten francs. The French were typically rather snobby, unless one knew the power of charm. Luckily for me, Elam taught me this without saying a word, I picked it up intuitively, but I think living in Paris had something to do with it.

The first time we went out together to litness, I had Thor with me in a foldable stroller, and I carried all the changes of clothes, diapers, jars of food, cookies, and Mo letters in a big bag on my shoulder. We had a late start because I had to prepare the baby, but Elam did not mind. Every one was given a metro ticket to start the day. Elam started passing out letters on the metro platform and asking for donations. By the time we left the metro station, he had some money.

“Let’s get something to eat,” he suggested. He stopped at a cheese store and bought a piece of Gruyere. Then we went into a bakery and asked for a hot baguette (a long, thin loaf of French bread).

“Here,” he said, handing me the bread and a piece of cheese,“put this in the bread and let it melt. It’s delicious.” I did as he said. It was one of the most memorable meals I ever had.

The warm bread had melted the cheese to a soft, sensuous consistency, and the freshly baked bread held a fragrance I could never forget. We stood on the side of the busy Boulevard St. -Michel, eating with gusto.

It was the first time since I had come to Europe that I bought food in a store on my own. In Germany we had not been allowed to spend any of the money we made, and we had to take food from the colony, if it was provided. Elam sensed that I was enjoying his humble gift of food.

There were some moments during life in the Family when communion between the right combination of people in the most simple and human situations made the harsh realities of communal life seem like a stepping-stone to an eternal connection with the universal soul. Of course, at that time, I could never describe these moments as such, but I knew they were special. This was one of them.